


Breaking at the Bridges

by cloudings



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Arguing, Best Friends, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, One Shot, Possibly Unrequited Love, Smut, Will Byers Loves Mike Wheeler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22530394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudings/pseuds/cloudings
Summary: Will is the only member of the party who has no experience in the wonderful world of not-your-own-left-hand.Mike wants to show him what he’s missing.-Mike says again, “Let me show you.”Fuck him. Oh, what the fuck. Fuck them both.“What do you mean?” he asks.“Will, come on,” he says. “You know what I mean. Do you want to?”
Relationships: Will Byers/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 31
Kudos: 220





	Breaking at the Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> this started off as a fun fic and just turned into a I LOVE WILL BYERS fic  
> can somebody pls give will byers a hug he deserves the entire world x
> 
> come talk to me on twitter @greyclouding !

Despite being Will’s best friend since training wheels, there’s little about Mike these days that doesn’t confuse him. 

It’s like a cycle. Mike does or says something, Will doesn’t understand. Then Mike makes it better again, and Will still doesn’t understand.

This is one of those occasions.

El’s out of town with Hopper. She and Mike had had another fuckass argument about who-knows-what and she had officially used the phrase “I dump your ass” yet again, effective still years later. They’re eighteen now and still acting like tweens. And so the fuck  _ what _ if Will hasn’t experience to compare to — he  _ knows  _ that it’s weird. They fight ten times more than the average couple, surely. 

So Mike invited him over to rant. It’s not a surprise. He knows that he can’t tell Lucas, because he’ll tell Max, who will tell El, and he can’t tell Dustin because Dustin will just tell Lucas. He knows he’s a last resort. It stings. But they’re still best friends. He’ll still sit and listen.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that she actually  _ was  _ on her period?” Mike is stressing, lanky arms flying all over the place. 

“I don’t know,” Will says monotonously, finishing a couple of strokes of colour onto the sheet beneath his hands. “I just assume that you shouldn’t talk about periods at all. That’s kind of gross.”

“They get so pissy about it,” he huffs, sitting himself down next to Will with a grunt, leaning his chin on his shoulder. “Your drawing looks cool.”

“Thanks,” he says, actually perking up a little. 

“You made Harrison Ford  _ ripped. _ ”

“Harrison Ford  _ is  _ ripped. More than you, anyway.”

“Whoa,” Mike scoffs, leaning backwards. “More ripped than  _ me?  _ I think not! Have you seen these abs?” he’s asking, and then he’s whipping his shirt off, over his head, and Will swears to God that he almost breaks the pencil in his hand.

His voice shakes as he tells him, “You’re more of a C3PO.”

“Hey!” Mike says, and he allows himself to fall backwards, draping his bare arms and torso all over the place. The pressure against Will’s pencil grows greater. He hears Mike sigh again. Fab. More about El in three, two… “I miss her.”

“I know you do.”

“But like… I don’t miss her damn attitude. I don’t understand why she has to lose it so easily. It’s not my fault that she bleeds out of her goddamn cooch once a month!”

Will winces. “Ugh, Mike, shut up. That’s disgusting.”

“ _ I  _ know that.  _ You  _ know that. But state the obvious to their face and suddenly  _ you’re  _ the bad guy!” Will hears him groan, hears a slap that he knows is a facepalm. “She was on her period all week before she left and now she’s gone. So we couldn’t even, y’know.”

“Mike. Stop talking about periods.”

Mike ignores him. “So now I was frustrated all last week, and I’m gonna be frustrated until she comes back, and probably after that  _ still  _ because she’ll still be in a mood with me.”

“So, what?” Will says. “Just jerk off like everybody else does.”

“It’s not the same,” Mike says dreamily. “When it’s someone else doing it for you, it’s — so awesome.”

“Not like I would know.”

“Well, yeah. You need to get out there. I’m sure that there’s a girl out there for you, dude! And then you’ll finally get to experience pure  _ bliss.” _

“Gross. I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like something that’s — It just sounds overrated.” Will shrugs. “I don’t know if I want some random girl touching me there.”

“What? Will — Have you been living on the same planet as me?” Mike asks, and Will has to resist the urge to make a bitter comment about the Upside Down. He hates this conversation. “Having a random girl want to give you a handjob is literally something out of a dream!”

He rolls his eyes. “You can’t say that,” he says. “You have a girlfriend. And besides, I just don’t see all the fuss.”

Mike narrows his eyes after a moment or two or staring, and Will just  _ knows  _ that he’s not going to like the next few things that come out of his mouth. He asks, “You do actually jerk off, right?” 

“Oh my God.”

“I’m just curious! You don’t seem to get it!”

“Yes, I jerk off, Mike, Jesus.”

“Okay. Good. Imagine how that feels, but amplified by like, ten thousand.”

“No.”

“We need to find you someone! I have El, Lucas has Max, Dustin has Suzie, and —”

“And I have no one. I get it, okay? And I don’t care. I don’t care, Mike. I don’t want a girlfriend, or anything. I don’t wanna hear about what you guys do with your girlfriends either, okay?” 

Will resumes his drawing as Mike slumps into a tense silence, and Will can practically see him opening and closing his mouth to try and find a way to respond to that. He’s not sure whether he’ll apologise. He’s not sure whether there’s anything he  _ could  _ say to that, to be honest.

But Mike. 

Mike. 

He says, “Let me show you.”

And Will can only freeze, mutter, “Excuse me?” and not dare to turn and make eye contact with his friend.

He says again, “Let me show you.”

Fuck him. Oh, what the fuck. Fuck them both. 

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“Will, come on,” he says. “You know what I mean. Do you want to?”

A thought like a freight train shoots through his head and he wonders whether or not Mike would have ever proposed such a thing to Dustin or to Lucas, had they been cursed with the inevitable long-standing virginity as Will has. Another comes then, almost crashing into the other, wondering whether or not Mike is asking that because he  _ knows  _ — leering back to those words that were spoken on that one night and never brought up again,  _ it's not my fault you don’t like girls.  _ And he didn’t. Still doesn’t. Does Mike  _ know?  _

Against his better will, he can feel the idea of Mike following through on his offer causing a stirring in his pants. If he asks, he’ll say it’s because of his inexperience and excitement at new opportunities. Will has a feeling that he won’t ask, though. He has a feeling that Mike is going to treat him like a deer for the next couple of moments - however long that lasts - terrified that he might jump and change his mind in a flash. 

And then everything rushes through his head. He has no lock on his door, never has done, what if his mom decides to walk in? Or worse, Jonathan? His brother who is dating Mike’s sister, and does that make it some kind of weird, somehow? Or will that only be enlisted when they get married? Are they running on borrowed time until Jonathan gets down on one knee and pops the question and then the possibility of  _ this  _ happening ever, ever again goes flying out of the window? 

But they  _ are  _ on borrowed time anyway, aren’t they? El has broken up with Mike for the time being, making whatever  _ this  _ is currently morally acceptable, in a way. Probably not. But. Mostly. Technically. She dumped his ass, after all. Mike’s technically single right now. Why shouldn’t he go around shoving his hand down other boys’ underwear? Why shouldn’t Will let him?

“Will,” Mike says, and he’s snapping his fingers in his face, and for the first time since his crisis, Will looks at him in the eye. He hopes that not all of his feelings are so transparent but he’s learnt that he can't trust his eyes to not give him away anymore. 

“Okay,” he whispers, so faint that he can barely hear it himself. Mike’s gaze wanders from eye to eye, lips slightly parted.

“Really?” he asks, and then his tongue is darting out to wet his bottom lip, and Will can’t help but drop his gaze to that. And then lower, because of  _ course  _ he’s still shirtless, how did Will forget that he was still fucking shirtless? 

“Yeah,” Will says, a little shrug lifting his shoulders. “Fine. I think it’s all overrated. Prove me wrong.”

Mike hesitates for one small moment, Will can see the cogs turning in his brain, and then he reaches forward and places his hand to Will’s crotch. Will’s eyes blow wide, and he gulps a little at the contact, but nods his affirmation to Mike, telling him wordlessly that he’s okay (he doesn’t trust his voice just about now). 

Mike presses down slightly, not so much as to hurt, but enough that Will can feel the pressure, and God, he’s harder than he should be already. Mike’s hand is unfamiliar territory and his dick is incredibly curious to explore — eager, even, as he feels it grow thicker between his thighs. Mike adjusts his grip and now his fingers surround it, his fingers caressing the bulge and moving his hand very slowly. Too slowly. 

Will looks up and he can see his best friend’s focus, staring at his dick as he palms it. It fills Will with a sense of pride, and he gets an overwhelming urge to kiss his parted lips, but — no. Too far. There’s an invisible line between the two of them, right now, and they both know what is and what isn’t acceptable. Somehow, handjobs are on the acceptable side. Kissing is not. 

The unoccupied hand rises into action and Will watches closely as he unbuttons his jeans, and then unzips them, and Will can feel Mike’s breath on the side of his face as he removes the hand that was touching him previously and replaces it, sliding his hand inside of the jeans and cupping Will’s cock over his underwear. The difference is staggering. Will’s never realised before just how thin his underwear are, he supposed, because he can practically feel the heat radiating from Mike’s hand, all through the little pin-sized holes between the strands that hold his underwear together. Mike squeezes softly once, twice, and then begins to stroke Will’s dick, and Will’s just glad that he didn’t wear his scratchy underwear today. 

“Shit,” Will hums, head falling forwards, hands rushing to grab onto anything he can for some stability. His right hand ends up balling the sheets of his bed and his left grips on tight to Mike’s forearm. 

“Nice, huh?” Mike asks, his voice low and groggy. He’s so close, Will thinks distantly. His face is so close. “You have lube, right?”

Will nods quickly. “Second drawer.”

He whines when Mike withdraws his hand, feels like he can finally breathe normally again. His eyes linger on Mike as he leans over to Will’s bedside table, fumbling around for his objective. He catches Will looking, says, “Push your underwear down,” and, when he thinks Will can’t see, adjusts himself in his own jeans. 

Will fumbles to do so. When he’s actually exposed, no more fabric to mask his excitement at the looming activities that they’re going to participate in, he can’t help but shiver. He’s scared, of course, but holy  _ fuck.  _ Is he dreaming? Really? Tell him now, because he might cry if he wakes up and realises this is just another one of those. 

Mike’s next to him again. Lube in his hand. He squirts it into his palm and then he looks down at Will’s erection, and Will can see his hand slightly shaking. He wastes no more time, though, wrapping his fingers around his dick and enveloping him in unrivalled bliss. Will jumps at it at first, the low temperature of the gel a surprise, especially to his sensitivity, but then Mike starts to pump his hand up and down, up and down, and he fumbles to stay upright. Really, they could just stop right now. Will needn’t be brought to climax to understand that Mike had been right all along — this was eons better than his own hand and they’d barely just begun. Perhaps it was something to do with how big Mike’s hand felt in comparison to his own, or the way that Mike had such a different technique to what he was used to. Mike strokes him in slow, tentative bursts, letting the feeling of him pumping him sink in each and every time he slides through his fist. 

“Do you like it?” Mike asks, as if that question isn’t already answered by the embarrassing litany of moans that Will allows to tumble from his lips. 

“God, yes,” he breathes, arching his hips up, meeting the jerk of Mike’s wrist. He can’t control his own body now, even with these sluggish strokes that seem to make it even worse. Will wishes he’d go quicker. 

Mike doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just watches Will’s face closely, his breath still tickling Will’s cheek. For some reason, Mike is panting, too, and Will doesn’t want to allow his mind to run away with him but if it’s for reasons that he surmises — and he figures he can’t be too far off — he wants to do something about it. In return. 

Then he says, “Tell me?”

“Huh?”

“Tell me how – how much you like it?” he requests, a nervous twinge to his voice. He meets Will’s eye unabashedly, though, and Will envies it. 

The question takes him aback, though. He is already struggling to find coherent thoughts in his head at this very moment without having to try and place them into sentences. But still, he tries. Because it’s Mike. And childhood crushes die hard. 

“It’s so nice,” he tells him sweetly, releasing his bottom lip from the clasp of his teeth. “God, Mike, it feels so good.”

“It does?” Mike breathes, and Will sees the corner of his mouth twinge upwards. “You like my hand?”

“Yeah, I do.” Will nods fervently. “‘Feels so big.”

Mike’s breath is releasing in short bursts, little whimpers accompanying them. “Do you,” he asks, and stops himself. He’s teetering on the line, Will thinks, the line he made himself. “Do you wanna touch me, too?”

It feels like a test. Is it a test? If he says no, will Mike feel weird about doing it to him? If he says yes, will it be too gay? Will the line be crossed either way? He can’t think about it. He doesn’t think about it. 

He says, “Yeah, yes, yeah. Let me.”

Mike does let him. He shoots his free hand down to his own jeans and unbuckles them faster than Will can blink. He never stops stroking Will whilst he pulls out his dick from his underwear, and Will definitely thinks that he’s in a fever dream. 

Will holds out his left hand and Mike uses his own left to squirt lube into the palm. And then Will is wrapping his fingers around Mike Wheeler’s cock. Oh, God. Really. He’s really doing this. 

It’s appealing to Will that Mike is already hard. It’s like something about doing it for Will did it for him as well, like something about Will turned him on, and that mere thought has Will’s dick twitching in Mike’s grip. Mike groans when Will starts pumping his hand up, down, up down, copying the other boy’s rhythm, and it’s like sweet music to his ears. 

“Fuck, yes, Will,” Mike preens, dropping his head to rest on Will’s shoulder. This touch shouldn’t give Will goosebumps when they’ve  _ literally got their hands on each other’s dicks,  _ but it does. He hates that it does. He hates it even more when he drops his head down, pressing his forehead to the back of his best friend’s head, the two of them murmuring approval and praise. 

“Mike,” he whispers, toes curling, mouth dropping open. “Shit, Mike,  _ please,”  _ he says, not that he knows what he’s pleading for.

Mike’s dick feels good in his hand. It feels natural. Like it was made to be there. It’s as hot and heavy as the room that they’re in, and it has a nice, smooth curve to it that feels good when Will strokes. He’s not as organised as Mike in his jerks, but he doesn’t think that Mike really minds. He’s faster, like he is when he’s touching himself, and every so often he pauses to apply pressure to the tip with his thumb, relishing in Mike’s reaction every time. 

“I’m, fuck,” Will says, ever so clear, and Mike tilts his head upwards to look at him, eyes lidded and lips bitten raw. 

“You gonna cum?” Mike asks him lowly, the strokes of his hand immediately speeding up. When Will nods, Mike says, “Come on. I want you to.” 

It takes away the embarrassing aspect of it. It’s not as if he expected to last forever, after all, but the sooner this ends, the sooner the illusion does. Awkwardness will be bound to leak up around the two of them. He hadn’t thought this through. 

But Mike  _ wants him to cum.  _ Mike’s asking him, encouraging him, so Will can’t say that he’s finishing this too fast. Mike’s asking him to cum, like a lover would, Will has to assume, and that thought clenches around his heart. 

“Will, come on,” he’s saying. “Cum for me, Will. I want — Fuck, I —”

Mike doesn't finish whatever it is he had set out to say. He lurches forward and captures Will’s lips with his own, his spare hand sliding up the side of his face. Will’s not entirely sure how to kiss, but he barely has time to worry about that at all. Mike’s kissing him like he might die, leaning over him, pressing Will’s back down to the bed. They aren’t sitting side by side any longer. Mike’s on top of him, kissing him silly, caressing Will’s dick so soft and nice. The feeling of Mike’s tongue probing inside of his mouth drives him a little over the edge. He’s always thought that stories of swapping spit were disgusting, but now, making out with his best friend, letting himself be ravished and his tongue to dance so intricately with the other man’s — 

Will keeps his hand busy. No matter how distracted he is by Mike’s lips and Mike’s tongue and Mike’s fingers and Mike’s words — he can’t forget Mike’s dick. He wants Mike to cum, and from this angle, it looks like he might end up getting it all over him, and Will could think of ten trillion things worse than that. 

They break the kiss only once to catch their breath, gazing into each other’s eyes, both trying to gauge the extent of the other’s emotions, and then they’re devouring each other again, arching into the heat of each other’s bodies. And Will —

Will moans freely into Mike’s mouth as he orgasms, spilling over Mike’s hand and getting it over his shirt, as well, not that he particularly cares at all in this moment. Now that he’s finished, his only thought is  _ now him, let him, make him.  _

Will kisses him the best that he can, keeps up his technique with his fingers to the tune of Mike’s enthusiasm. It would be natural for Mike to take longer than Will due to experience, and Will doesn’t know (doesn’t  _ want  _ to know) now El usually went about such activities, but he’s determined. He’s determined to bring his orgasm from him, as quickly as he can, show him and show El that he’s just as good, just as worthy of him.

He can’t help but smile when he feels Mike’s teeth dig into his bottom lip slightly, desperate, exuberant with  _ need,  _ and he doesn’t even mind the pain. Mike’s hips are regularly thrusting forwards into Will’s fist, now, so much so that Will doesn’t even need to move much, but he does. He does it ruthlessly, savouring every last moan that it brings from his partner, and when he starts to feel Mike’s rhythm stutter and twitch, feel his nails in his skin, he doesn’t slow down.

He says into his mouth, “ _ Yes _ , Mike,  _ yes,  _ come on, do it.”

Mike does. His lips still as he kisses him but he holds him tightly, making sure that he doesn’t pull away. Will feels his fluid splash onto him, soiling his shirt more so than it already was. He doesn’t care. He loves it. 

After a moment, or two, maybe three, Will pulls his face away from the kiss. 

“Well,” he says, voice heavy with breath.

Mike’s looking at him with huge eyes. “Fuck.”

“You proved me wrong.”

Mike tears his eyes away from Will’s face, looks down at his hand. It’s dripping with Will’s remnants of ecstasy. He says, “Holy shit.”

Anxiety sparks up Will’s stomach to his chest and then his throat. He nudges Mike from on top of him, sits up, removes his dirtied shirt. Mike picks up the shirt and wipes his hand on it. After a second, he tentatively places a hand on Will’s arm, slides his fingers down to his hand, and wipes that, too. 

Will’s eyes follow the movements of their hands. “I won’t tell anyone,” he says, to ease the tension even just a little. 

Mike’s mouth breaks into a frown. “Will, listen, I —”

“It’s fine,” he says, always says. He picks up his underwear from the ground, goes to pull them back on. Mike holds on to his hand. “Mike.”

“Will, I don’t wanna seem like an asshole.”

“You don’t. We got off. It’s fine. You were right, it does feel better if someone else does it.” 

“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

Will falters, just a little bit. He pulls his hand away from Mike’s. He asks, “Why?” if not a little bitterly.

It takes him a few seconds. “I’m not — I’m really not, you know, like that.”

Will hitches his underwear up. “Okay.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m saying, okay. I believe you.”

“You don’t.”

“Well, do I have any reason to, really?”

“El.”

Will scoffs. “You can be both, Mike. It’s 1989.”

“It’s — I know, okay, but I’m — I’m  _ not,”  _ he persists. 

“You just asked if you could get me off, and then asked if I could do it for you, too, Mike. That’s pretty fucking gay.”

Mike jerks back. Like he’s been burnt. “Don’t say that!”

Will smiles a little, despite himself. He knew this was coming. “You’re — you know — You’re unbelievable. Come and fucking talk to me when you’re ready to stop bullshitting yourself, Mike.”

“I’m not bullshitting anything, Will. Listen, if you – if you wanna be like that, if you wanna be gay, I have no problem with it. I don’t.”

“Wow, thanks, that just means the world to me. Go ahead and fuck off.”

“Will —”

“Mike, I’m serious. I don’t care if you’re with El, I don’t care if we never do that shit again, I really don’t. But for me, God, and Mary’s sakes, you can’t even hear the word  _ gay  _ without flinching. If you could just stop acting like it’s something – something to be ashamed of, something to freak out over,  _ God.  _ No straight guy does that stuff, Mike! Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you know how I’ve felt about that shit – about you – for like,  _ years,  _ now, and I —”

Mike kisses him. It’s softer than before. Will can’t help but allow his lids to flutter shut, against his better will, and he leans into it, for just a moment. Then he pulls away. 

“I’m sorry,” Mike says. Will knows and doesn’t know what he’s sorry for. He doesn’t know if even Mike knows what he’s sorry for.

“Go,” he tells him. “Can you just go?”

Mike gathers his clothes after one deep look at him. He pulls on his shirt, does up his jeans. He closes the door gently on the way out and Will can hear him say goodbye to his mom. 

Will turns on his stereo, and rips up his drawing of Harrison Ford. 

**Author's Note:**

> #givewillbyersaboyfriend pls x
> 
> come talk to me on twitter @greyclouding !


End file.
